


can't catch a break

by onceuponamoon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: His hands itch with the need to bake.





	can't catch a break

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all, paige wanted something involving zimbits and hurricane irma, so i'm gonna use this opportunity to say please [donate](https://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=content.view&cpid=5243&from=homepage) money, blood, food, what you can if you can.

Irma.

Irma’s supposed to just be “That One Great Aunt” that nobody likes to talk about because she ran away to New York when she was younger and only comes around back down south for funerals and weddings if people remember to invite her. (And they always do, because she has money and lots of crazy stories.)

But _this_ Irma is an omen of devastation. 

Hurricane Irma destroyed entire islands in the Caribbean and has been the cause of too much heartache down in the south. She’s been downsized from Category 5 to just a tropical storm, but the wind and rain and flooding have been unrelenting for days.

Eric knows he should count his blessings. He’s been in constant contact with his mama, with Coach, with the Phelpses and other extended family -- he knows they’re all safe and still alive and that _that’s_ what matters. Cousin Taylor and her kids are officially homeless, though Aunt Jackie’s going to take them in, and it looks like the flooding in Rob and Pauline’s shop is going to have them shut down for months at the very least. But they’re all _alive_.

His hands itch with the need to bake.

“Bits?”

Eric looks up from his phone, from the carnage and detritus littering the streets and yards of so many people; Jack’s expression is full of concern.

“Hey, sweetpea,” Eric says, edging around a sigh. “How was your nap?”

“Good.” Jack bends to kiss Eric’s cheek and ambles on to the fridge for some water. “Your family okay?”

“They’re all safe,” is what Eric finally decides on. He doesn’t like to complain by nature, but he’s been learning over the past few years that downplaying his emotions doesn’t hurt anyone but himself. “I’m still worried, of course. Jose’s on its way. I feel like these poor people can’t catch a break.”

Jack frowns around his glass of water.

_Maybe a couple of pies, some of those protein packed cookies, a few tarts,_ Bitty muses, counting out how many sticks of butter he’ll need. They have plenty of eggs and peanut butter and pecans, but he might need to grab some dried cranberries along with the pretzels for the monster cookies.

“Bits,” Jack says again, and then his hands are there, making Eric look up into his eyes. “You’re shaking.”

Eric hadn’t realized. He sighs. “I just...I feel so helpless?” 

He’s been fretting for weeks -- since before Harvey hit Houston; he’s donated money, sent canned food and clothes. Jack’s done much of the same, but when the news feeds show the destruction...it just seems like this is something money won’t be able to fix. 

Jack kisses Eric’s forehead and pulls him into his chest. “You know it’s okay to turn it off, right?”

“I know...But I want to _do_ something, I --” Frustrated tears threaten to spill and Eric has to swallow down the frog in his throat. “I could maybe do a baking drive? See if Samwell will let me set something up -- or maybe...do you think the Falcs would foot it? I know we can’t promise to match everything, but maybe there’s...maybe it’ll generate some _real_ help. There’s only so much a couple of tweets can do.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Jack agrees, “I’ll talk to George.”

Eric releases a breath, feeling like it’s the first breath he’s taken all day, wrapped up here in Jack’s arms discussing a game plan. “Alright,” he says. “Good.”


End file.
